about

This record was released on the 4th of July in 2011 to commemorate the one year anniversary of my parting from alcohol. Since that time, many things have happened. Many people have come and many more have gone. This record is dedicated to my loving, ever-supportive parents and the folks who stuck with me. I love you. Thank you.

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Track Name: A Hailstorm on Independence Day (Produced by Chevelle James)

The sun is nowhere to be seen in the sky.
It seems to hide at times for reasons and I need to know why.
But I believe that if I try to close my wearisome eyes I can see whether or not the dream's still alive.
The seasons provide us with food, fun and disaster.
Till we reach death, some of us run to it faster.
There's been times I've climbed with risk of plummeting backwards.
No concern, just a yearning and a bucket of last words.
While clutching the last nerve my stomach contains.
And pumping something other than blood to run in the veins.
Chugging substance after substance just to fuck up my brain, cover the pain and make me numb for just a couple of days.
Thought process, I tucked it away.
Let somebody with something to say have it while I rust and decay.
Flutter away with the angels as I'm jumping from grave to grave.
Maybe thing'll change.
I'd be lucky to stay, but hey.

I see the storm start to rise in the distance, think I'll try to ride it out.
I'm feeling prime for some mischief.
In life, there's a place and a time for indifference and it's not when you're trying to live it.
So when I make decisions to say "fuck it" let the demons be guide, I cease pride as I watch another piece of me die.
Seeking to find what the people describe as true bliss.
I collide with the feeble disguise I move with.

The night skies revive with the flashing of lights.
Reminders of unending freedom and the passion to fight, action and plight, but I'm on a different level than everybody who's celebrating.
Consciousness, opposite of elevating.
I chose to celebrate my freedom by indulging in the one thing controlling and open to killing me.
Soak the liver, moat the river, wait and hope for delivery of another chance before I get choked with a guillotine.

I see the storm start to rise in the distance, think I'll try to ride it out.
I'm feeling prime for some mischief.
In life, there's a place and a time for indifference and it's not when you're trying to live it.
So when I make decisions to say "fuck it" let the demons be guide, I cease pride as I watch another piece of me die.
Seeking to find what the people describe as true bliss.
I collide with the feeble disguise I move with.

The hailstorm subsides on the forth of July.
Finally open my eyes.
Reinforcement of sight.
A brighter portion of light.
Set a course for the skies.
Metamorphosis.
I'm ready to soar high.

Track Name: Ice Cream for Breakfast (Produced by Chevelle James)

I wake up to a joint, stretch and something to eat.
Lace up my sneakers, jog the streets east up to the beach.
I see the sun rise up from the horizon of tides, high in the sky.
Slim-eyed, I keep my tongue in my cheek.
Shuffle my feet along the concrete next to the lake.
Take just a second to stretch it out like electrical tape.
Take a breath as I wait and wipe the sweat from my face.
Then chase the seagulls down the coast at a respectable pace.
If I've neglected to state that life's great, let me mention it.
Consensus is to exit outside and be adventurous.
Enter into areas I rarely attend.
Whether I'm flying solo or open to sharing with friends.
Hate can barely contend with such a wonderful feeling.
I'm up at the ceiling just reeling in the beams.
You know that feeling in your knees when you're light as can be?
Finding the neatest and cleanest places for hide and go seek.
Let's eat.

If I ain't jogging, then I'm walking where I need to go.
Playing the music like I wanna see the speakers blow.
To each his own, but I'm living it clean.
It's just a part of the decision to dream.
I try to keep in shape, eat ok, write a lot, light some pot, chief while I seek perfections.
I got the munchies, ate the cereal and bacon for dinner, so now I'm eating ice cream for breakfast.

And things are different from a year ago.
And now I'm liking who the mirror shows.
I had to clean the mind and clear the soul.
And do my best to push the fear below.
And so much has changed in five years.
The comings and goings of my peers.
The shed and eventually dried tears.
I'm learning to appreciate my time here.
Turning a blind ear to ignorant thought, pick it apart.
Despite fear, you've gotta think with your heart.
GIve it a spark to hit the marks that you're aiming to reach.
Savor the labor that it takes to get you taming the beasts.
While tryna stay on your feet and keep course.
No seahorse path of travel, I'm tryna take advantage of resources provided when eyelids are open.
The sunshine as guidance residing between the sky and the ocean.

If I ain't jogging, then I'm walking where I need to go.
Playing the music like I wanna see the speakers blow.
To each his own, but I'm living it clean.
It's just a part of the decision to dream.
I try to keep in shape, eat ok, write a lot, light some pot, chief while I seek perfections.
I got the munchies, ate the cereal and bacon for dinner, so now I'm eating ice cream for breakfast.

Track Name: There's Mutiny Afoot (Produced by NateG)

There’s times in life when we reach the point of no return and we feel something deep within us start to slowly burn.
I’ve felt the cold hands of death grip and hold me firm.
Time for a change of pace isn’t the only term I can use to describe what now needs to occur.
'Cause as of late all my days, months and weeks are a blur.
I’ve peaked concern for my family and closest of friends.
As I sprint toward the finish line, approaching the end of this race we call life like I’m preparing to hurl myself right into the tape without a care in the world.
‘Cause once you cross the line, you’re done.
You only get one race.
Time to slow down to a comfortable pace and keep moving.

There’s something haunting me that’s lurking in my soul with a vicious grasp.
I can’t help but ask “Will I regain control?”
See, even though it’s rooted so deep, I’m ready to now learn to try to take my life back.
I’m ready to fight back and turn the tide.

How the hell’d it come to this?
I wish I could’ve told that the self-intervention would be put on hold.
I let the liquor do a number on me this time.
Now I need some life elbow grease from this spit shine to clean the mess that I allowed myself to make.
Drowning every single ounce of me, such a selfish state.
Almost met a hellish fate at the hands of this shit.
I’ll be damned if it lands me another ambulance trip.
I’m tryna keep my candle lit.
I’m only twenty-four years.
I’ve got plenty more smiles and plenty more tears
Plenty more fears to face and years to chase.
More tears to taste before I near the gates.
Here’s the case, I’m sick of liquor leading me to stupid shit.
I’m setting down the bottle, making sure it starts to loosen grip.
Maybe I should think about re-picking up my crucifix.
I’m too legit to not put on the shoes that fit.
Do it quick.

There’s something haunting me that’s lurking in my soul with a vicious grasp.
I can’t help but ask “Will I regain control?”
See, even though it’s rooted so deep, I’m ready to now learn to try to take my life back.
I’m ready to fight back and turn the tide.

Now what the fuck is this?
I’m waking up in intensive care.
My face is numb like I’m sitting in a dentist chair.
My head is pounding like my brain is fighting drum machines.
Vision blurry like my corneas are filled with tumbleweeds.
Ears buzzing like bumblebees.
Stomach full of butterflies.
Mom and dad on each side of me, standing there with flooded eyes.
I’ve got an IV in my left hand.
My mouth is bitter and gritty like I ate a mouthful of wet sand.
The last thing I can remember is me taking shots.
I guess I didn’t have the sense in me to make it stop.
‘Cause Ben and Steve had to rush me to the ER, where doctors saved my life from the free fall.
See, if .40 is legally dead, then I should be laying six feet deep.
I should be easily dead.
‘Cause they tell me I was ready to find heaven.
The doctor said I had a .511.
Damn, it’s such a trip to know that death had had its claws in me.
Ain’t like I was fighting much.
Ain’t like I was hard to reach.
But I ain’t even tryna see that fucker’s sickle yet.
Now I just gotta worry about the cigarettes.

There’s something haunting me that’s lurking in my soul with a vicious grasp.
I can’t help but ask “Will I regain control?”
See, even though it’s rooted so deep, I’m ready to now learn to try to take my life back.
I’m ready to fight back and turn the tide.

Track Name: Professor Appleseed (Produced by Christopher Allen)

Four in the morning, hitting off on the alarm clock.
He rips a bowl to get as high as Star Fox.
His car’s shot so he’s driving a rented one.
He readies himself then heads out to get it done.
The medicine make the class prep easy.
Gotta give the students sweet growth like a peach tree.
They’ll start filing in ‘bout 8:05.
Except the one kid who might as well have stayed the night.
Mom and pop gotta work early and drop him off first.
So he kicks it with the janitor and works on his homework.
Until the teacher arrives, then he can enter class.
Teacher’s name is Thom, kid is Seth, forgot to mention that.
It’d be like twenty past seven when Thom would arrive.
Seth would post up at his desk and vent the confident vibes.
They’d have discussions as the others would come.
Eventually realizing they share a love for bud.
They started kicking it behind the gym blazing before class.
Some mental preparation for some paving the warpath.
The war for wisdom both in knowledge and creativity.
I mean, after all, it’s all about the kids, you see.
Well, this was just another typical day.
Thom and Seth behind the gym getting blazed.
Seth mentions that his dealer got pinched.
All he gets is mids, anyway, he’s sick of the shit.
He asks Thom where he fills his ganj fix.
And promises the shit that he comes with is the bombest.
Now Thom’s at a crossroads, but what could he do?
Business calls for expansion of customers, dude.
Another discussion or two leads to an agreement.
Thom will sell him up to an eighth, once per weekend.
“But not a gram more and keep it hushed.
If you can, then I’ll supply you with the bombest and the cheapest stuff.”
Now, Thom was always against selling to students,
but the truth is Seth was like the son he never produced.
Reminds him of his own youth back in the day.
When he was living his life in such a passionate way.
“Saturday is the only day you can buy a thing from me.
Meet me at three in Hodge Park at my thinking tree.”
Thom instinctually speaks from his gut,
but it’s 2:30, he’s gotta hurry the fuck up.
Drive into the city, community college night class.
Coffee, a sandwich and a joint by the bike rack.
Time passes just fine with the power point.
Thanks to the diesel-powered purple sour joint.
After class, lock up and drive West.
To stock up on what he promised to supply Seth
and his other clientele who expect fresh produce.
And trust me, he’s got the hook up like a phone booth.
He gets the finest, medicinal-grade herbals from a cat named Herschel,
couple pounds plus some personal.
Plenty purple and orange up in his green.
Type of shit that got you feeling like you’re stuck in a dream.
Fucking serene. See Thom met Herschel in class.
He taught him at city college a couple of years back.
Started buying from him, desire hard to contain.
It wasn’t long before Thom became a part of the game.
He’s had his cards on the table tryna hide what his hand holds.
Only so much pressure can be held on a man’s soul.
But damn yo, kinda hard to complain
when he’s always carrying stuff that helps to spark up his brain.
So, carpe the day, he’s been doing it well.
Selling bud on the side of helping students excel.
It may be foolish as hell, but he’s just living his life.
Charlie’s on some bullshit. Thom is winning the fight.
And then Saturday comes, Thom is up at his spot.
Grading papers by the thinking tree, puffing some pot.
Seth arrives ready to buy the fire he was promised
and immediately pulls a couple twenties from his pocket.
They make the swap and Thom offers a toke.
But Seth insists he’s gotta go quickly off to the road.
Just then, Thom hears a lot of shouting from behind him.
“Hands on your head, you’ve got the right to stay silent!”
It seems Seth was an informant for the cop shop
trying to make the steady flow of good pot stop.
I don't mean to rant,
but two schools lost a teacher and a man is in jail over a plant.

I haven’t left this bed in days.
Can’t say I’ve been led astray, though, ‘cause this maze I’ve been wondering’s in my head today.
And it’s hard to step away from something that’s a part of you while always making sure you try to grow just like the gardens do.
Maybe it’s time I take my feet out of the artist’s shoes and give myself a chance to start to move.
Because it’s hard to move forward when you keep yourself in the past.
All you’re doing is putting you on the shelf like the ashes of a late relative.
I take shelter in the fact that everything is slowly coming to an end.
Praise the genesis of living dead, flesh eating, natural disaster, worldwide war, epidemic traveling faster.
Say a prayer for the rapture if you’re into that interaction with the sky in hopes somebody hits you back.
I stand by the simple fact that if you want something done right you’ve gotta do it yourself.
Sometimes we gotta loosen our belts to make room for the next meal.
Plus we can’t just always sit around imagining how the sex feels.
I know there’s nothing like a good old fashioned, but smack that ass and get it cracking with passion for satisfaction.
‘Cause according to an ancient fact, the world is gonna end soon.
Searching for the Neo, mind power, mental bend spoons.
Well that’s not me, but I can kick a rhyme or two.
Armageddon, posted up, munching on some diner food.

This is my last will and testament before all of existence turns to nothingness.
Try to get a fucking grip ‘cause the end is coming quick.
And since the end is on it’s way, you can pray, I’m just gonna keep taking it day by day.
This is my last will and testament before all of existence turns to nothingness.
Try to get a fucking grip ‘cause the end is coming quick.
And since the fuse is lit on both sides, we can watch the whole world die all around us.

Unidentified space crafts, comin from the sky fast.
Fixating my pupil to the traced light track.
But the fact is that these visions wont seize.
Will the fiction turn to non?
I wanna see how the end will be.
Maybe no being will descend from the astral, but what about tsunamis and other disasters natural?
Questioning where the facts will go, cause my friend had a dream.
Premonition of Earth swallowed by a nuclear scene.
But the rapture didnt happen, nobodies souls were stolen.
So let your skulls split wide so your eyes stay open.
I stay choking from the chem-trails and dont even know it.
Iodine water supply to close my eye for the controlling.
Just one big scheme leading to the last scene.
Preparation skipped to be blind folded in our sleep.
Whether it be disappearing off the face of this rock.
Silent like the mayan race.
It could happen in my lifetime, thats why i live to write rhymes.
I wanna make the whole world open their eyes.
At a constant attempt to put a slow to the sand, but too many secrets live under the masters hand.
Or if the ancient word were to really come true, there's only one more year until twenty one two.
So i let my spirit run through with pure expression.
Blazing colors through my eyes cause the art wont rest within.

This is my last will and testament before all of existence turns to nothingness.
Try to get a fucking grip ‘cause the end is coming quick.
And since the end is on it’s way, you can pray, I’m just gonna keep taking it day by day.
This is my last will and testament before all of existence turns to nothingness.
Try to get a fucking grip ‘cause the end is coming quick.
And since the fuse is lit on both sides, we can watch the whole world die all around us

Track Name: In Due Time (Produced by Smash Moody)

I used to only smoke cigarettes when people were watching, but now I only want to when they're not.
I wrote the screenplay to my life and picked out the props, but it's harder than I thought to try to stick to the plot.
I hit a different pothole every time I leave my residence.
Choking on the pestilence of being a pessimist.
Feeling restless and tired of being stuck on this mood swing.
Time to find my heart some new strings.
I let too many people take scissors around the ones that I did have and that's the reason why I burned these bridges to ash.
They're in the past of my path and my eyes are on the what's to come.
Moving till my lungs rupture.
I will never cut and run.
I am just my mother's son/father's youngest.
Tryna minimize my carbon thumbprints and respect karma's circumference.
See what goes around comes around so I don't trace the radius.
That's half-assed and I wanna be part of life's amazingness.

I got a smile on my face, what a coinkydink.
It's shining brighter than the diamonds on your pinky ring.
I guess it must be the weather in the air.
I'm feeling so alive like I never really cared about depression or defeat, stress, loss or regret.
Then the sun breaks through so I pause to reflect.
Sometimes in life all we need is some time to gain composure and a launch in our step.
The day we're born the clock is set to wind down till we pass.
We're driving in a car with an ounce left of gas.
Constantly searching for a near-by station.
A never-ending scavenge hunt for sheer vivation.
But life takes what it has given, so live for the day.
And search for wisdom if you're fixing to stay.
And when it feels like the world's too cruel to be kind, just keep your head up, 'cause good things come in due time.

Track Name: It's Easy to Snipe with a Cannon (Produced by John Tom)

A beam of light passes in through the opening of the curtains and reflects on the chair in which I rest.
I stare at the mess I left on the table the night before, lord knows I like to carefully neglect.
The sun has hardly climbed, clock is barely past seven, yet my step-mother's calling in to share with me the next piece of stress.
Pops has had another heart attack, they have him in intensive.
I'm defenseless and can barely reach a breath.
Scared and leaking sweat, just terribly distressed.
I'm bearing the effects of cherishing and caring for and respecting what's in jeopardy of ending.
The situation, pending.
A never-ending feeling of weakness and inability to rest.

Now I'm feeling blessed though, 'cause they let him go the next day.
Said 'You gotta protect your chest like a breast plate.
Cut out the cherry cigars and eat better.
Respect yourself and don't forget to medicate.'
Set it straight, better make that change.
Break that cage enslaving you.
We all have a song full of melody and rhythm.
Days pass by, whistling a fading tune.
Sailing through the daily groove, but everything around us changes too.
Waiting for an angel to descend to Earth to save us fools.
Play it cool.
Life has a way of sending muck our way followed up by pain followed up by amazing times in cycles.
Grey skies turn to daylight then night glow.
Life is survival and you're the maestro of the show.
Despite the holds, we flow and turn and grow and learn to laugh at the pie throws.
Look past your idols for guidance in certain aspects.
Live till you feel the burn like an ab stretch.
Then share it with the world like a mass text.
No map quest for the address of the destinations unknown.
I propose we all take moments for improvisational poems.
'Cause words can - -

Take us home.
Shape our souls.
Break us down.
Make us whole.
Take us into places that we've never been, for the sake of growth.
It takes a toll, but still we stroll.
One foot, then the next.
Push it, then rest.
Life digs hooks in the flesh.
Pull it, stretch.
Strengthen the roots of the nest.
If we stay rooted in beauty, then we can truly see who to be.
Fluidly moving from where we used to be.
'Cause time supersedes anything we dream and everything we do, still we fight just to be.

I stopped believing in Santa Claus in fifth grade.
Fits of rage when my father let it slip one day.
Vindicated in a way, though, 'cause I was free to misbehave slightly and know there won't be coal for me on Christmas Day.
We all sit with pain at times.
Some do more than the rest.
Forced to connect by nature, faced with change.
We paint the portraits of death, and those of life.
Close your eyes and just imagine that everything's easy breezy as sniping point blank with a Canon.

Take us home.
Shape our souls.
Break us down.
Make us whole.
Take us into places that we've never been, for the sake of growth.
It takes a toll, but still we stroll.
One foot, then the next.
Push it, then rest.
Life digs hooks in the flesh.
Pull it, stretch.
Strengthen the roots of the nest.
If we stay rooted in beauty, then we can truly see who to be.
Fluidly moving from where we used to be.
'Cause time supersedes anything we dream and everything we do, still we fight just to be.

Track Name: Home is Where My Liver is (Produced by Smash Moody & John Tom)

Staring past the glass as the barren fields pass.
Mind running laps like a ferris wheel's path.
I'm scared to feel a lack of the presence of loved one.
The helplessness is a transparent steel trap.
Prepared to peel back another layer for the one's around me.
Feeling numb and drowsy, 'cause it's hard to see the sun when cloudy.
So I close my lids and rest against the glass and dream a little dream as the next defensive task.
'Cause every time I make the trip, anxiousness sinks it's fangs in this.
Dangerous to the mental.
I wrestle to feel complacent.
Face it.
Things are never gonna be the same as they were in the past.
There's no chance to retrace it.
And that's what fate is, the way things occur.
Whether they're meant to or not, till we're laying in the dirt.
And I almost went there one night last summer in my hometown.
Selfish, with a vacant sense of worth.
But ever since my lids lifted, I've vowed to live different.
Sipping of the vicious liquid nixed, and all the shit that's with it.
And I don't miss it, but I hate how things have changed.
A stranger watching everyday behind a window pane.
'Cause I'm just not the same and I'm barely around.
So many bridges built, fate now tearing them down.
But I'll spare you the frowns and melodramatic reactions.
I'd rather relax and cut back on the traction.
I'm not mad.
Everything is copacetic.
Aesthetically pleasing and mentally easing to know I've stayed free from the substance once destroying me and blocking weeks and months from my mind in chunks accordingly.
Many continue to live it the same.
Filling the picture frames with different flames and different mistakes and different drinks that take precedence.
The end to some relationships.
The result of when friends become acquaintances.
That's just the way it is.
Time proceeds and we strive to see light, maybe find some peace.
Climb a tree, hike the beach, whatever eases the nerves.
Till we're released to the sweet eternal sleep with the worms.
Free as a bird, that's why I had to fly from the cuckoo's nest.
The cage of designer drugs, raves and boozed-up sex.
Use your specs.
It's up to you to do your best.
I choose to live instead of humming to the tune of death.

I'm coming home where my liver used to roam the streets.
Not so discrete.
No relief until I cornered the beast.
Parted ways with the past.
Eyes ahead, just trying to blaze a path.
Or even make you laugh, weep, let the passion seep.
If I should die before I'm fast asleep, I hope the people I love know it.
I show it when I can.
Forever I'm helping these gardens grow from the sand.